


glass eyes

by screechfox



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Ending, Dissociation, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Kissing, Stranger!Jonathan Sims, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: Jon doesn’t know when Nikola untied him. He doesn’t know when she swept him into a frantic parody of a waltz, her painted smile too wide, too welcoming. He doesn’t know when he stopped resisting it; worse, he doesn’t know when he began to lead.
Relationships: Nikola Orsinov/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 21
Kudos: 229





	glass eyes

Jon doesn’t know when Nikola untied him. He doesn’t know when she swept him into a frantic parody of a waltz, her painted smile too wide, too welcoming. He doesn’t know when he stopped resisting it; worse, he doesn’t know when he began to lead.

“I knew we would make a dancer out of you yet, Jon!”

“I don’t—” 

“Nonsense, you’re doing wonderfully! No need to be embarrassed.” She winks at him with one glassy eye. There’s a flash of crimson, her coat flaring behind her as they spin around the room, weaving between waxworks. Nikola laughs when he lifts her, her hollow limbs soaring through the dusty air.

“What—” Jon’s jaw feels stiff as he tries to speak, his tongue too heavy in his mouth.

“Do you see now? Our new world will be quite something, won’t it?”

_ Our. _ There’s something wrong with that, but with every step they take in parallel, the knowledge seems to slip further and further away. His bloodied hands tremble against her plastic skin — or perhaps it’s the other way around. It’s hard to remember why the distinction matters.

“You’re going to wear me,” Jon says, utterly toneless. He should be terrified, but there’s nothing where his lungs should be. He feels like he’s been emptied out to the core.

Nikola’s head tilts so far to the side that it seems like her top hat is going to fall off.

“Oh, am I?” Her piercing sing-song is a constant even through the confusion. “That  _ was _ the plan, but— well, I’m very indecisive, is the thing! This is going to be much more  _ fun.” _

She leans in, peering at his face intently. Her expression doesn’t shift, of course, but she hums a tuneless melody of amusement. Her eyes blink slowly, and this close, he can see how flat their details are — no depth to the pupils, painted irises uncannily perfect. 

“Go on,” Nikola encourages. “Look a little closer! I’m sure you’ll like what you see!”

Jon doesn’t want to, but the dance demands that he pulls her near. If she were human, he’d be able to feel her breath on the skin of his cheek. She presses the unyielding plastic of her mouth to his, and he can’t pull away — this is all part of the dance. The taste of paint lingers on his lips.

They slow to a gentle turn in front of a gilded mirror. He catches his own eyes in the reflection, and they are as flat and glassy as Nikola’s. Somehow, he isn’t surprised.

“Oh,” he says, because he has to say  _ something. _

Nikola falls into a graceful dip, and as he holds her there, he stares at the doll that wears his skin and speaks with his voice and thinks his thoughts. It isn’t a  _ bad _ likeness, all things considered. Now that he’s looking, he can feel the tug of stitches and staples at his joints, barely hidden beneath the too-gaudy clothes Nikola must have dressed him in.

“What do you think, then?” Nikola asks eagerly. “I don’t get to skin people often, but you were an excellent project! I really got a chance to show off my artistic flair, don’t you think?”

“Elias is going to hate this,” he mutters, listening to the newfound strangeness of his voice. Despite his flat tone, everything is enunciated far too clearly, the theatrical extreme of human speech. It reminds him of the way he used to exaggerate his accent, trying to seem like someone he wasn’t. It’s remarkable how little things change.

“Don’t fret! Your Elias — can I call him Elias? — is going to have bigger problems soon enough!”

“The Unknowing,” he says dully. 

“Oh, a gold star for you!”

“You were going to wear me, but now you aren’t.” 

“Exactly! I decided it would be much more exciting like this. Properly dramatic!”

“If I’m not me… Why do I remember who I am?” He finally works out how to force his tone away from monotony — the question has an incisive edge he’s rather proud of. 

Nikola tilts her head again. He gets the impression it’s her version of a shrug.

“Oh, you’d have to ask Sarah about that. I’m just the one who took you apart!” 

“You’re lucky, you know,” the thing with Sarah Baldwin’s skin says, mouth set in a grim line. “I was all in favour of butchering you after you and your dog damaged this shell, but when Nikola gets an idea into her head…”

“Yes, well.” He coughs, or makes a sound roughly approximating a cough. “Thank you?”

“Hm.” Sarah leans into his personal space, and he has to resist the urge to lean back. “You’re still adjusting, aren’t you? Lots of rebellious memories making you feel like you’re still human.”

“I— I suppose so.”

“You’re not, you know.” She reaches up with one finger, tapping her nail against the pupil of one of his eyes. There’s no pain, just a dull clink of glass. “You’re a part of us now.”

There’s something to the way she says  _ us. _ She doesn’t just mean the Circus, or the Stranger, she means something bigger. She tugs at the flesh of his cheek, and he knows she could slip it off and wear it for her own, their names and faces interchangeable. He is a twisted facade of Jonathan Sims, worn over a hollow plastic shell; his thoughts and feelings are only skin-deep.

Ah, well. He never liked himself that much anyway.

“Nikola might still get bored of you,” Sarah continues with a certain amount of eagerness. “If you want to stay around, I’d make yourself entertaining. Give us all a show.”

Entertaining. Hm. The outfit Nikola put him in evokes the Circus in much the same way as her ringmaster’s clothes, all bold colours and glittering flourishes. He was made to dance. 

“Or don’t. You’ll be useful to the ritual either way.”

She seems satisfied with his lack of response, the way he’s fallen statue-still as he considers her words. There are still echoes of the horror and revulsion he thinks Jon would have felt, but they’re superficial — a good show, and nothing more.

He  _ wants _ the Unknowing. Maybe after the world is changed, he won’t have to know himself anymore. All he’ll know is the dance.

**Author's Note:**

> and of course, jon-as-jon isn't actually dead, because we all know what happens to the bodies of the people the stranger's servants wear
> 
> hope you enjoyed! you can find me at [screechfoxes](https://screechfoxes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! have a good day!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Come Join The Dance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605673) by [phantomthief_fee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomthief_fee/pseuds/phantomthief_fee)




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